My phone drips around my hands. Tv breaths. Walls slide underneath themselves. Reality melts. Typically calling my name.
Feel connected to it, maybe even enjoying it some. Having to handle it like a bad trip. Grind past it and ignore distractions.
Something inside can’t accept the truth, buys into the confusion, leaves me with questions. Always questions.
Sitting with a corgi and a poodle, everyone else is occupied or napping. In a safe place.
I wonder how much is the Sza and how much of it was my drug use. Left a lasting toll.
Full blown visuals when I close my eyes. Just random junk and foolish prophecy.
Going to puff my vape pen until this stops. Writing as I process. A flash sale on time.
Took my PRN. Wanting more than that. Urge to drink. Not enjoy a drink, no, that would be to pedestrian. I mean chug as much cheap gut rot as I can, til I passed out in a wasted fugue. Did that for years. Probably had poisoning a few times.
Thinking of angels just past the veil, echoing song, following the light. I haven’t seen them. Busy these days I would suspect. Letting it go.
A holy spark inside the blood. An attempt at a synthetic normalcy. Don’t know if it helps, but it sure does make it more fun.
Done venting, feeling better.
Be safe.